


Many Moons

by little0bird



Series: Dog Star Rising [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Azkaban, Post-First War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 07:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird





	Many Moons

It was almost cruel, really, Sirius reflected as he drew his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them.  One would think that the builders of Azkaban would have only put narrow slits in the wall for windows. Just to make the atmosphere even more dark and airless.  Instead, the window was wide enough for him to see the sky. He could even see the moon at night.

 

It should make him happy, those glimpses of blue sky or pearl-bright moon.  Even the low grey clouds that usually comprised the view weren’t necessarily the end of of the world.  Perhaps the builders of Azkaban had a deeper purpose in giving the inmates those tantalizing glimpses of freedom. 

 

The view of the sky was one of the more depressing things in Sirius’ current existence.  

 

Tonight the moon was full.  He could see it, the fat curve filling the window, luminescence blotting out the stars.  Sirius hugged his knees a little tighter. _Remus_.  He suffered terribly during his transition.  Eleven years. One hundred thirty-two months.  One hundred thirty-two full moons. One hundred thirty-two solitary transformations.  Eleven years ago, Sirius would have sworn James and Lily made Remus their Secret Keeper, but the sheer amount of time he had to think left doubts in its wake.  Maybe it hadn’t been Remus.  Perhaps they’d chosen someone else.  Frank Longbottom, perhaps.  Choosing either Remus or himself was far too obvious.  Sirius shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. _Well, I could_ , he thought.  The fewer happy memories he had, the better, but the roiling pain it brought threatened to choke him.  

 

Sirius allowed his thoughts to drift.  James, his eyes twinkling with infectious earnestness as he proposed they become Animagi, so Remus didn’t have to suffer the full moon alone.  The satiated glow on his face after spending a Saturday evening with Lily in an empty classroom. Lily’s cautious words to support an hours-old Harry’s head when she hesitantly shifted the sleeping baby to his godfather’s arms.  Lily laughing with delight as Harry took his first unsteady and unassisted steps. Thinking of James and Lily inevitably led him to the memory of their twin graves, side-by-side in the churchyard. James and Lily, of course, turned his mind to Harry.  He wondered if Lily’s bitch of a sister had taken in Harry, like Dumbledore intended. He hoped not. Sirius hoped someone like Molly Weasley had opened their home and heart to Harry.  _ He must be twelve years old by now _ , Sirius mused.   _ Second year at Hogwarts.  I hope he plays Quidditch. _  Sirius scowled slightly.   _ He’d better be in Gryffindor.  Be a right shame if he ended up in Hufflepuff.  Or worse, Slytherin. _

 

Sirius unfolded himself and began to pace slowly around the cramped confines of his cell.  He shouldn't have had to worry about Harry’s whereabouts. He should be the one taking care of his godson.  With a pang, Sirius pictured a miniature version of James, with his untidy black and Lily’s green eyes. They would have lived in the country, in a cottage, with lots of room to breathe and be a proper family.

 

Sirius let himself imagine what might have been.  Even though it was painful, he created scenarios in his mind.   _ What if… _  They weren’t particularly distressing or wrenching, but sad enough to keep the Dementors at bay.  None of the images were real, and didn’t have quite the emotional impact as his real memories did.  Harry learning to talk. Learning to ride a proper broom. Playing with Padfoot. Sitting at a scrubbed wooden table in a warm, bright kitchen, while Remus tutored the boy in Muggle subjects like reading or maths, then as he got older some of the basic spellwork Harry would do in his first year at school, using a stick for a wand.  The Hogwarts letter. Going into Diagon Alley for Harry’s things for Hogwarts. Going to King’s Cross, darting through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾. Sirius sank on the edge of the bed, gripping the rough wool blanket between his fingers.

 

An unhinged cackle echoed off the stone walls and intruded into his thoughts.  Sirius glanced upward, with only a small hitch of his shoulder to betray his irritation.  They’d confined him to a cell in the same area as Voldemort’s supporters. Rather stupid, really, of the Ministry to keep them all relatively close together.  

 

The first time he’d heard that demented laugh in Azkaban, it had so violently startled Sirius out of his pathetic reverie that he’d glanced wildly around his cell.  That Bellatrix was insane had been the worst kept secret in the Black family. His aunt and uncle had quickly married her off as soon as she finished school to Rodolphus Lestrange, who wasn’t exactly known for his mental stability himself, so she could be someone else’s problem.  

 

Sirius wondered tartly if Bellatrix had managed to keep her wits, such as they were,  about her. The fact he could still think clearly was deeply rooted in his despair: he hadn’t killed Peter Pettigrew.  Rotting in Azkaban sent him into spirals of unrelenting depression. Dementors abhorred depression and despondency. There were days Sirius begged for death, just to end this miserable existence.  But alas, Sirius’ wishes had rarely come true.

 

XxXxXxX

 

Sirius stood on the landing and drank in the still-familiar scents.  The boiled potatoes and cabbage from 4F. Furniture polish and artificial floral-scented cleanser from 3A.  They hadn’t changed in over fourteen years. He slowly climbed the stairs. 5B. Hid old flat. The one he’d bought with some of the gold his uncle Alphard had left him and shared with Remus when they left school.  Sirius closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.  _ Paper.  Buttered toast.  Chocolate. No… Melted chocolate.   _ A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.  He could only detect those subtle aromas because he’d spent the bulk of the last year living as a dog.  By next week, he wouldn’t be able to pick the smell of a well-read book out of all the other competing scents.  

 

He lifted a hand and lightly knocked on the door, feeling only slightly foolish.  It was technically his flat, but in all fairness, he hadn’t lived there since his arrest.  The doorknob glowed faintly red and the door opened a mere crack. ‘Moony,’ Sirius rasped. 

 

The door opened wider.  Remus stood in the dim light, his wand in one hand, and a book dangling from the fingers of his other one.  ‘It’s happened, hasn’t, it?’ Remus asked, as conversationally as if he’d asked Sirius if he wanted milk in his tea.  

 

Sirius nodded.  Remus always knew, without people having to tell him things.  ‘Dumbledore sent me to gather the old gang. What’s left of it anyway.’  He could feel himself sway slightly. He hadn’t eaten for several hours, unable to swallow due to his anxiety over Harry and the Triwizard Tournament.  Nor had he slept. Remus set the book down and reached through the door, grasping Sirius by the wrist. Remus dragged him into the flat and closed the door, casually jabbing his wand at it.  ‘It can wait until morning,’ Remus murmured. ‘You look done in.’

 

‘You could say that,’ Sirius said quietly.  He stood uncertainly, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, painfully aware of the dirt and grime embedded in his skin and clothes.  

 

Remus motioned toward the bathroom.  ‘Go and have a shower. You’ll feel better.  I might consider giving you some chocolate afterward.’

 

Sirius plucked at his ragged clothing.  ‘And wear what after?’

 

Remus perched on the arm of the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest.  ‘I packed all your things away after you were sent to Azkaban. Never had the heart to dispose of them.  I’ll fetch them up from the basement while you’re in the shower.’ Remus gave Sirius a gentle shove toward the bathroom.  ‘Go on.’ 

 

Sirius prodded the sofa.  ‘Is this as uncomfortable to sleep on as it was fifteen years ago?’

 

Remus snorted.  ‘Yes. Last time I fell asleep on it, I could barely walk for two days.’

 

‘When was that?’

 

‘Last Tuesday.’  Remus pointed to the bathroom.  ‘Go. Shower. I’ll bring up your things and make up the bed in your old bedroom.’  

 

‘The sofa is fine,’ Sirius insisted.  ‘I probably won't be here long enough to justify making the bed,’ he argued.  He swallowed, forcing down the image of one of the last times he’d slept in that bed.

 

‘Nonsense,’ Remus said.  Sirius squirmed under his friend’s unrelenting gaze.  ‘When was the last time you slept in a real bed?’

 

‘October,’ Sirius muttered.  

 

Remus shoved him lightly toward the bathroom.  ‘Have a wash, and when you’re finished, you can put on something clean and have a nice cuppa.’  He slipped out of the door of the flat, wand held lightly in his fingers.

 

Sirius shuffled into the bathroom, and twisted the taps in the bath, testing the temperature of the water with a hand, making it as hot as he could stand.  He stripped, tossing his clothes into a corner and stepped into the bath. 

 

He stood under the scalding spray for several long moments, reveling in the sensation of hot water sluicing over his skin.  Sirius reached for the clean face cloth draped over the towel bar and generously lathered it. He scrubbed at the grime that seemed to be ingrained in his skin, even resorting to sitting on the floor of the tub to scour the soles of his feet.  Washing his hair was yet another ordeal. He managed to finger-comb the worst of the tangles from his hair, then work the shampoo through it. Sirius had no idea how long he was in the shower, but his hands had gone wrinkly. 

 

Sirius shut off the water and shoved the curtain aside. Two towels balanced on the edge of the sink. He roughly dried himself, and wrapped a towel around his waist, using the other to dry his hair. Sirius padded to the bedroom he’d once called his own, and paused on the threshold.  True to his word, Remus had neatly made the bed, and Sirius’ old school trunk sat in the corner of the room. 

 

As Sirius drifted to the trunk, he trailed a hand over the footboard, hearing Gideon laughingly complain that the bed was much too small, before wrapping his arms around Sirius, spooning him.  Sirius shook his head to dispel the wisp of memory as he flipped open the lid of his trunk. The clothing was on the older side, but Remus had packed them well. No damage from moths that he could see.  Sirius grabbed a faded t-shirt and experimentally sniffed it. It smelled relatively clean, with no trace of mildew or something equally malodorous. Reaching in a bit further, he unearthed a pair of pants and an only somewhat ratty pair of pajama bottoms.  ‘Sorry there isn’t anything a bit more stylish,’ Remus remarked, as he peered around the doorframe. ‘You were always a rather flamboyant dresser.’

 

Sirius shrugged and dropped the towel around his waist, reaching for the pants.  ‘It doesn’t have holes or stink like Azkaban,’ he said with an attempt at levity.  As he donned each item of clothing, he felt a little more of the past several months falling away.  ‘Is there a comb in the trunk?’

 

Remus replied by tossing an object across the room, that Sirius snatched from mid-air. It proved to be the wooden comb he’d used in school.  ‘I can give you a trim later,’ he offered. Sirius nodded and began to work the comb through his damp hair. ‘I’ll get some tea ready and you can fill me in on what’s happened.  I imagine there’s work to do, if Dumbledore wants to reinstate the Order.’

 

‘You could say that.’  Sirius dug deeper into the trunk, his hand brushing against a bundle of knobbly wool and froze.   _ Not now _ , he told himself fiercely at the sudden prickle of tears  and found a pair of socks. He drew them over his feet, then padded to the kitchen table.  He took the chair Remus indicated, reaching for the steaming mug of tea, bringing it to his mouth with both hands.  Remus had been generous with the sugar, and Sirius was grateful for the sweet warmth of the tea. It made the next thing he said somewhat easier to bear.  ‘We’ll have to go to Grimmauld Place.’

 

Remus paused, a butter knife suspended over a stack of toast.  ‘Surely not.’

 

‘It’s perfect,’ Sirius said miserably.  ‘Muggle-Repelling charms, Unplottable. Every damn charm known to wizardkind.  The Order can operate safely there.’

 

‘But what about you?’ Remus inquired, handing a plate of toast to Sirius.

 

‘I’ll be fine,’ Sirius said with more conviction than he felt.

 

‘We don’t even have to suggest it,’ Remus argued. 

 

‘We do,’ Sirius insisted.  ‘Any issues I might have about my childhood home are irrelevant.  The greater good and all that tosh.’ He shrugged, taking a bite of toast.  ‘Besides,’ he continued once he’d swallowed it, ‘Harry can come live with me there.  And when my name is cleared, we’ll live somewhere else. The Lake District, perhaps…’ Sirius trailed off, munching his toast, lost in thought.  

 

‘If you’ll just allow me…’  Remus indicated the towel in one hand and the scissors in the other.  Sirius dropped his toast and pushed his chair back. Remus wrapped the towel around Sirius’s shoulders and drew a comb through Sirius’ damp hair.  ‘How short would you like it?’

 

‘Here.’  Sirius slashed a hand in the air just over his shoulders.  

 

Remus made quick work of Sirius’ hair, Vanishing the grey-streaked locks scattered over the floor.  ‘And now, I think it’s high time we both went to bed. ‘It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.’ Sirius drained the tea in his mug and got to his feet, trailing after Remus.  

 

Remus paused at the threshold of Sirius’ bedroom.  ‘Sleep well, old friend,’ he said, slapping Sirius on the shoulder.  

 

‘And you as well.’  Sirius waited until Remus had gone and closed the door.  He pawed through the trunk, until he found the bundle of wool.  He froze momentarily, then slowly drew out a dark blue jumper, quite at odds with the style of the other clothes in the trunk.  Sirius pressed it to his face, his hands trembling. He fancied he could still smell the aroma of Gideon’s bay rum soap in the fibers.  Sirius sank to the edge of the bed, clutching it to his chest. He quite clearly remembered pulling it over Gideon’s head, and flinging it to the floor.  Gideon reluctantly sliding from the warmth of Sirius’ bed, smoothing the tumbled hair from Sirius’ eyes, a soft kiss. A half-hearted, fumbling search for the jumper in the gloaming of dawn before Gideon gave up.  A murmured admonition to find the bloody thing, please -- it was his newest Christmas jumper from Molly. She’d go spare if something happened to it.

 

He’d died just a few hours later, brutally attacked by five Death Eaters.  

 

Sirius could never bring himself to return the jumper to Molly.


End file.
